


A Certain Romance

by dixiebee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dixiebee/pseuds/dixiebee
Summary: Sherlocks finds out he can think better at crime scenes when him and John are touching. (Completed)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 183





	1. Do I wanna know?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for clicking on my little fic. I hope you enjoy and kudos/comments are appreciated! ;))
> 
> Also, if you can work out the theme behind my title and chapter names I officially love you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I don’t have a beta, any mistakes are my own and feel free to correct me in the comments!

They were at a crime scene when it happened. Usually when Sherlock examined a body his brain made the sequence of events clear to him, it played out like a story inside his head until he was hit with the often brilliant conclusion. He would then repeat this to the completely useless detectives standing by (more often than not including Lestrade).

Then came his favourite bit- John's reaction. While his verbal appreciation has lessened over the years Sherlock could still pick up on his widening eyes, that moment when the doctor would stare at Sherlock with an almost _debauched_ look, his breath coming out in slightly shorter gasps than normal, his eyes full of something Sherlock couldn't decipher. It was... good, really good. He didn't even think John realised he did it, which was fortunate as John didn't approve of adding to his "Already massive ego."

Because of this look, the brunette would admit that he played his deductions up a bit. As the more dramatic the revelation, the more he strode around being mysterious and aloof and Sherlock Holmes, the more John appeared captivated.

And for some reason the detective _loved_ captivating John, it gave him a warm feeling in his stomach.

That's why he was particularly frustrated with what happened. Because Sherlock was fine with making a fool of himself in front of Lestrade and the rest of the mindless idiots that accompanied him, their opinions mattered to him about as much as those of animals would, but the one thing Sherlock truly minded was disappointing John Watson.

He was aware that this happened more than he liked. John would often get disappointed over some dull pedestrian thing like Sherlock not cleaning bits of eyeball out of the microwave or being rude to someone, but the brunette couldn't really help that, in fact he liked to think it was John's fault more than anything for letting his sensible side get the better of him. But disappointing the doctor during the Work was _unbearable_. It was the thing that Sherlock was reliably scintillating at, by anyone's standards, and to miss out on John's appreciation made him feel a sharp ache in his chest. It was odd.

That's why, when Sherlock turned up at a crime scene, and after staring at it for five whole minutes had nothing to tell them, he felt the strange sensation of panic. It wasn't that he wasn't getting anything from it. Far from it. He could deduce hundreds of tiny clues but impossibly, none of them matched up. It was like trying to find the middle of a maze from multiple entrances, but every time he thought he was close there was a dead end.

It was overwhelming, how was this happening? It was him. He wasn't supposed to be confused, that was the polices job. Was there something wrong with his mind? Sherlock could feel himself spiralling.

That's when the army doctor behind him stepped forwards and put a steadying hand to the base of his back.

The feel of John's warm hand pressed to his thin shirt fabric immediately soothed and anchored Sherlocks mind. He closed his eyes and quickly was able to connect the dots he'd missed.

Huh, that was...strange.

He'd heard physical touch could be grounding for some people but he'd certainly never experienced that effect until now. The detective filed it in his mind under future experimentations as, for now, it was time to show off.

Next crime scene they arrived at, three days and four hours of sleep later, Sherlock remembered his experiment. The first step was repeating it, observing if his minds reaction was the same. Luckily the body was laying in a cramped kitchen so Sherlock was able to naturally touch shoulders with John while examining, ignoring the heat that bloomed in his chest.

This case wasn't nearly as complicated as the last one, a simple burglary gone wrong that had somehow stumped Scotland Yard yet again. However, Sherlock still noticed a difference in how quickly and easily his deductions came to him. While he usually would've spent at least three minutes on his observations he was reeling them off to everyone in just over two. Fascinating! Was it just John or would touching anyone do?

The next case started in the middle of the night. Sherlock was idly composing when the call came through from Lestrade.

"Sorry Sherlock normally I'd wait until morning but this one is urgent, we think the killer is going to strike again in the next few hours. Anything you can give us would be great."

The brunette hadn't been planning to sleep anyway so the decision was easy. He felt a flicker of guilt at rousing John when he was deep in the middle of a REM cycle, but the doctors sleepy face and bed hair brought back that curious warm feeling in Sherlocks chest so he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

The detective and a rather disgruntled John arrived half an hour later to see a handful of Scotland Yard clutching coffees and rubbing weary eyes as they stood around the body of a teenage girl. Sherlocks brain was already whizzing into action but he forced himself to stop thinking until he could initiate the next stage of the experiment, changing variables. He wanted to see if it was only John's touch that worked. He didn't particularly want to touch Lestrade but it had to be done and he was by far the best option, not repulsive like Anderson and close enough with Sherlock that he probably wouldn't question any contact.

Casually he bent over the body, ensuring his calf was brushing the detective inspectors.

Then Sherlock turned his mind to the girl laying in front of him, deducing evidence about the killer was relatively easy but it hadn't come to him any quicker than normal. Interesting. What made John different?

He looked over at the blond man and scrutinised him. Was it something about John's body type, natural temperature or familiarity that grounded him? Yet John had little difference to Lestrade in the first two aspects. That left familiarity. Was it purely because Sherlock was more used to contact with the army doctor? Had more of an emotional attachment to him?

The detective wondered if there was any way to increase it even further. He already knew his mind was brilliant, but with John's touch he could be _incredible_ , even better than Mycroft. That would show the smug prick.

Maybe it was about the level of contact. If the simple touch of a hand or shoulder made his mind think almost twice as clearly, what would touching more of John's body do?

Sherlock had the chance to try this theory out later that night. His deductions had got them close to the killer but they had unfortunately lost him during a particularly long chase in Brixton and he was fast, within the hour another body was reported. The act was so bold it seemed almost like he was mocking them.

This time it was another teenager, but a boy. Coincidentally or through some anger and luck on the killers part he looked not dissimilar to how Sherlock was as a teenager. His curly dark hair was splayed out on the pavement and the brunette instantly realised that the blood still drying on his face could remind John of the detectives own "death" a couple of years prior. His analysis proved correct when the army doctor stiffened next to him and determinedly looked away from the body as if the memories were too much.

Unexpected guilt niggled in Sherlocks chest. He thought they were finally over that.

However the genius suddenly realised this was the perfect opportunity. He'd just been too blinded by sentiment for a moment to see it, _idiot!_

Slowly, moving like one would around a startled animal, Sherlock brought his arm around John's shoulders and squeezed. He tried to convince himself that it was just for the experiment and that he definitely didn't almost feel the urge to draw John in closer and deeper. It was most peculiar, his body's draw to the army doctor's.

The brunette ignored the sensation of... _sparks_? that were now flying up and down his arm and concentrated on his younger lookalike. Once again his deductions came to him blindingly fast, even quicker than the last times he'd been in contact with John.

"Oh, _OH_! I know exactly where to find him." Sherlock exclaimed, racing off to grab a taxi and dragging his doctor with him.

"Thanks.. for what you did back there." John murmured as he slid into the cab. "Sometimes I just get.. memories."

The detective found himself overcome by some new strange emotion and didn't trust himself to speak, but he tentatively found the blond’s hand and squeezed it before retreating quickly back to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note- “blond” is actually not a spelling mistake, it’s how you’re technically supposed to refer to a man with that hair colour. (blonde is for women)


	2. R u mine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets drunk.

Two days later, after the killer had been caught and apprehended, Sherlock found himself to be drunk.

In celebration for solving the case John had found a couple of old wine bottles left by clients and the detective had been persuaded into a few glasses. He usually didn't drink as he didn't like the way it slowed his mind, but John was in front of him and looking at him in that way of his and he found it mysteriously hard to say no.

The man in question was slouched on the sofa beside him, even more inebriated than he was.

"Sherrrlock I don't.. I don't understand how you can solve it so fast." John slurred, looking up at the brunette in admiration that he wasn't (poorly) attempting to hide for once. "You were even faster than normal.. was 'mazing.

"You helped." The genius chuckled before suddenly realising he should probably shut up because of course John didn't know that.

"Wait what, how?"

He might as well tell him now.

"John the other day at the crime scene when you touched my back, do you remember?" The doctor nodded slowly. "Well it helped, cleared my mind. So I tried touching you while I was examining the scene again last week, and during this case and yet again it proved helpful. Please don't ask me why because I don't know why and I _hate_ not knowing."

"Is that why you put your arm round me? I knew it. I knew you had a reason and I was so _stupid_ Sherlock because I actually bloody thought-" The blond cut off, looking wounded.

Any other time the genius probably would've let John believe that, but the liquor was loosening his lips and he was filled with the urgency to _placate_ John and get back to that soft admiration. "I was trying to discover what impact different levels of contact with you had on my mind, but it wasn't just because of that. I do feel bad you know, about making you think that I was de-"

"Yes yes I know, no need to keep reminding me." John sighed. "What were the results anyway, with the contact?"

"More contact equals higher ability of my mind to find clues."

"Well let's do that then."

"What?"

"Look whatever the reason, if you touching me helps you find some poor soul's murderer, or stop them from killing again then I'm hardly going to object."

Sherlock frowned. That was.. unexpected. The detective had already thought about telling John but had decided that the blond would just get uncomfortable about looking "gay" in front of Scotland Yard.

"Okay."

"Okay then."

The two friends smiled at each other and Sherlock ignored how indescribably good the sight of John Watson happy made him feel.

The morning after they arrived at a small house in Primrose Hill, nursing sore heads. Sherlock wouldn't have come out except _this case_ , oh this case was special. Not one, not two but three bodies lay dead in the Coopers living room. Three! That was practically unheard of. The higher number of victims meant Sherlock could feel himself getting quickly overwhelmed by the clues around him. This was no simple case, there had been a party and he could see evidence of dozens of people and scenarios. He had to narrow it down. Come on, _narrow it down_! His hangover seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

Then he remembered he didn't have to force his mind through this. Not alone. Spotting his doctor looking calmly at him with "I'm here if you need me." In his body language, Sherlock strode over and wrapped the man in his arms.

The brunette had never considered himself to be a hugs person before. He'd been victim to many from overeager relatives and the occasional grateful client so could confidently say that with perhaps the exception of with Mrs Hudson, he detested all affectionate physical contact.

That was before he hugged John.

Sherlock had expected a similar effect to before- the quieting of his mind, clarity. But he was not in any way prepared for that warm feeling he'd been getting in his stomach lately to suddenly hit his entire body at full force; It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, he felt a rush similar to when he used to turn to cocaine. The detective suddenly wanted more, _needed_ more of John, who felt all hot and hard and good through his shirt fabric and OH! What on earth was happening to him? He couldn't be- he had to-

Sherlock pulled away with a gasp.

"Er, can you give us anything?" Lestrade coughed over the childish sniggers coming from Anderson and Donovan.

"What? Um yes, yes!" The detective realised the purpose of the hug had actually worked, he could now easily figure out what had happened; even with his mind currently in a frenzy over the blond standing patiently next to him.

Later, in the cab on the way back to Baker Street, John turned to him with a frown.

"Are you all right? You seem jittery"

"Er yeah, yeah fine, course I'm fine." The detective muttered.

"Did it work then? The hug."

"Nope." He popped the p, hoping to sound casual. He couldn't feel that again, couldn't engage in his transports needs and risk distracting his mind.

John looked surprisingly...disappointed? The genius guessed that his doctor side had kicked in and he'd been looking forwards to being able to help the victims more.

"Huh. That's weird, maybe try it again?"

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise and stared out the cab window. Please leave it alone John, _please_.

Luckily his friend didn't mention it again.

Throughout the next couple of weeks Sherlock determinedly kept his distance from John during The Work. His brain felt frustratingly slow now that he'd had a glimpse of what it could be like, but every time he was tempted he reminded himself of that feeling he'd got from hugging John and how dangerous it was.

Sherlock had never had a partner before. And by partner he didn't mean the kind that him and John were, but the kind that involved cuddles and sex and _I love you's_. Basically all the things Sherlock had never imagined wanting, or that anyone else would want from him.

The brunette was a virgin and he'd never minded because he'd never felt that desire towards anyone. He could hardly stand to hear most people talk, so the thought of letting go of control around someone, trusting them with the real him and that side of him and not laughing at him or trying to use him, had been unthinkable.

And then of course John had come along and Sherlock had slowly opened his mind up to the fact that he could be liked. Not just tolerated because he was useful but actually _liked_. It had been a revelation. And the genius had never had a friend before so he didn't know if it was normal to find John so endlessly.. fascinating, and he didn't know if other people got so irritated when their friends went on dates, or if they too felt something strange and bright happen in their chest every time they made their friends laugh.

He did know that he couldn't give in to those feelings though, Sherlock was aware that he had an addictive nature and if he let himself fall and love and touch and John let him and did it right back (which was incredibly unlikely) then he'd never stop. He'd be possessive and obsessed and he'd take over John's whole life, the way he'd let the cocaine take over his all those years ago. And then he'd lose him. If Sherlocks initial declaration didn't make John run a mile then trying to love him certainly would.

He couldn't lose the doctor, he couldn't lose the best thing that had ever happened to him. (How dreadfully sentimental- shut up Mycroft).

So that's why, every time his brain was frustrating him and the urge to go to John and make it _work_ with just a touch almost overcame him, Sherlock stopped himself. He was determined to forget it, to retrain himself to see John platonically and nothing more.

And it might've worked too, if it wasn't for what happened one Monday.

A few months ago, a man called Samuel Parks on death row had written to Sherlock from Florida, pleading that he had been framed and could the genius figure out how to prove it. He'd known Mrs Hudson when she'd lived there so had been aware of the detective through her. Usually Sherlock would never accept such a mundane case but as a favour to his landlady he had had a quick look into it.

Quickly he'd discovered an overwhelming amount of evidence against the man and since he was in the middle of a much more exciting case it had been quickly dismissed. That was the last Sherlock had thought about it until the day of Samuel's execution.

The brunette had been clearing out all the case and court papers he'd found about the man (John had insisted his desk was reaching bomb-exploded level of mess) when he'd suddenly come across something he'd missed, new evidence that the American was innocent after all. Sherlock knew he needed to come up with a theory good enough to suspend his execution, and fast. He looked at the clock, 10 minutes left to save Samuel Parks. Allowing a minute to call Mycroft and giving his brother a maximum of three minutes to talk to the right people, that left him six minutes.

The evidence was right in front of him, it _had_ to be! There was so much information.. why had he given up on this so quickly? Come on Sherlock, come on. He shut his eyes, going deep into his mind palace and his brain raced through the timing, the suspects, the autopsy; there must be something, something he'd overlooked! Why were his thoughts so slow?

Then suddenly he had less than two minutes left and John was coming up the stairs, back from work (clearly a bad day, lots of patients, he'd been hit on but hadn't appreciated the attention).

The solution to Sherlocks problem came to him in a flash. He had to ignore his trepidation. There was a mans life on the line and despite what probably even John thought the detective _did_ care, especially when it involved Mrs Hudson. A glance at his laptop told him he had just over a minute left before it would be too late to call Mycroft. Leaning on John, even a hug wouldn't be fast enough. He needed to do something that he'd truly wanted to do ever since John had shot the cab driver all those years ago, something would shock his brain into giving him the answer. He needed to- he had to-

The brunette strode over to John, who was leaning tiredly against the wall, and crashed his lips down against the blonds.

At first nothing happened, the doctors mouth was shock still against his. For one horrible moment Sherlock thought that it wouldn't work, that he'd ruined their friendship forever.

He was about to pull back but then amazingly, something took over John and he began to kiss the detective fiercely. OH. _OH_.

It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. No drug, no case could ever match the thrill that raced mercilessly through his body as the kiss grew deeper. Every wet swipe of John's lips against his felt hot and dirty and fucking amazing (And he _never_ swore). Sherlocks knees were going weak and as he felt the doctors tongue brush along his upper lip he became distinctly aware that he was moaning, desperate pants and whimpers that filled the air. John must've liked them because he _finally_ slid his tongue into Sherlocks mouth. God, It felt insane. Then their bodies were moving closer and rocking together and Sherlock was distinctly aware that the solution to the American's case had come to him but he didn't care, couldn't care when it felt _this_ good.

Suddenly, the alarm Sherlock had set on his phone for the deadline to call Mycroft went off, and they sprung apart.

John was starting to say something but the detective remembered a mans life was on the line. He would talk to the blond afterwards; he would tell him that the kiss, _that kiss_ , had confirmed the one thing he was afraid of.

Sherlock Holmes was in love with John Watson.

It was completely terrifying but he couldn't bring himself to fight it anymore, It would be unbearable to never feel John's lips on his again, and he would tell him that, he _had_ to tell him that, but right now he had a life to save.

So that was why, ignoring all of his instincts, he turned his back on John and hurriedly called Mycroft. He tied his hardest to keep his voice steady.

"Brother mine, there's a man called Samuel Parks about to be executed in Florida in four minutes. I need you to stop it, he didn't do it- it was the victims brother."

The brunette stayed on the line explaining what he'd figured out as Mycroft made the arrangements, and he sighed in relief when his brother confirmed he'd sorted it out two minutes later. Samuel was saved.

However, when Sherlock turned around to explain everything to John, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you’re enjoying it so far :) and thank you everyone who’s left a lovely comment/left a kudos, you’ve made my day!


	3. Baby I’m yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see John’s perspective on things.

When the consulting detectives lips had touched his, it had felt like the best moment of John's life. for _years_ he'd imagined kissing Sherlock, for years he'd gone on dates to try force himself to move on, and for years he'd repetitively come to the conclusion that he couldn't. It hadn't mattered that the genius obviously didn't feel the same way, John could never think of him as anything other than beautiful (something he'd never described a man as before) and absolutely insane, and utterly _his_.

That was why, weeks ago, when Sherlock was clearly panicking at a crime scene John hadn't been able to stop himself from offering a comforting hand. It was a poor substitute for the fact that he wanted to draw the man into his arms and pour _everything_ into making the ridiculous detective happy again.

It was also why he'd stopped dead in his tracks after he'd seen that boy, spread out on the pavement just like Sherlock had been. The genius then putting a reassuring arm round his shoulder made him feel a level of happiness he didn't even know he could feel. It had felt so goddamn right and John had even felt a bit of _hope_. It was amazing.

But then later when they were drunk together the genius had revealed to him the real reason he'd done it. To Sherlock, he was just an experiment, a way to improve his mind. That hadn't stopped him from suggesting the detective do it again though.

And then he had.

Sherlock had bloody put his arms around him and pulled him into his coat and the genius had smelt so good and was so warm through his shirt, It had been _heaven_. The electricity between then had been so intense that John almost couldn't breathe, but then Sherlock went all rigid and pulled away. The doctor had felt disappointment thud hard in his chest.

Afterwards the genius told everyone a string of such incredible deductions that John was so sure the hug had worked, until the cab. Was Sherlock lying? Why would he do that?

Whether the genius has been lying or not, there was no more hugs after that one, the detective would barely look at him at the crime scenes and John was miserable and confused. Even if it hadn't worked, Sherlock was never put off by one negative result; In his experiments he'd always repeat everything twice, _always_. The detective might be insane and chaotic and messy, but he was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to experiments and the work. Had the embrace been _that_ awful for Sherlock?

So John had been resigned, accepting of the fact that he would probably never be able to touch Sherlock to that extent ever again. Something in him ached whenever he thought about it- which was constantly- so he took on some extra shifts and buried himself in his doctor work. John had hoped that maybe, this time, he'd be able to get over the genius. And it had been working. Kind of. Maybe not at all. But he was trying.

And then Sherlock just had to go and kiss him. He had to shock him and press those beautiful lips against John's. For a moment he'd been too stunned to do anything, then he knew exactly what to do and it was incredible. The sensation was utterly _dizzying_. then Sherlock made those obscene _noises_ , the noises that meant the doctor could do nothing but pull him closer and slide his tongue into the genius's mouth. The noises that turned John on so much he could barely stand. Then Sherlocks body was pressing wantonly against his and so much adoration and love was waiting to burst out of him.

It had been perfect, and the doctor had been about to pull away and whisper those three little words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long.

But then the alarm had gone off.

It was a wake up call and both men had immediately jumped apart. John decided he should probably ask Sherlock what had just happened, but it was too late. The detective was already on the phone to _Mycroft_ for some reason and talking about some case and OH.

The doctor felt like a bucket of ice water had just been poured over his head. _Of course_ , how could he have been such an idiot? Sherlock wasn't kissing him because he wanted to, he was kissing him because of that thing he got when he touched John. Yet again the blond had just been used as just a means to solving a case, nothing more.

Then John remembered how passionately he'd kissed Sherlock back, and embarrassment and despair had propelled him out of the flat. John had to leave, just for a bit. He couldn't stand the thought that right now the detective was probably _pitying_ him, wondering how to break it to him that he didn't feel the same. Oh god. What had he done?

He didn't have enough money for a cab to Harry's, and he didn't really feel like seeing her anyway, so John walked to the place where it had all began.

The bench that Mike Stamford had once sat on was thankfully empty and the doctor stayed there for what felt like hours (but couldn't have been more than 40 minutes). He wondered if he'd have to move out; if Sherlock would be so horrified by John's infatuation that he'd insist on his departure. Tears pricked at the doctors eyes but he stubbornly blinked them away. He was nearly forty, he refused to cry like a heartbroken schoolgirl, dammit.

It was then that he felt someone else sitting on the bench and John couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed that some stranger felt it was appropriate to squeeze in when he'd _deliberately_ sat right in the middle to make it clear he didn't want company. The doctor turned to tell the stranger exactly that when suddenly it felt like all the wind was knocked out of him.

Sherlock Holmes was sitting there, with mussed up hair and an expression on his face that was almost.. fragile?

Then, after he'd gotten over his surprise, John realised he was probably nervous about rejecting the doctor. Sherlock didn't have many friends, in fact John was pretty much his only one so he probably wanted to make sure he didn't lose him. The thought should've been a nice one, but it just added to John's misery. Sherlock being anything but shockingly blunt was just unnatural.

"Just say it." He mumbled, refusing to look the detective in the eye. "Just say it and I'll move out until I've got it under control."

Sherlock frowned, then breathed out slowly, his captivating eyes still fixed on John.

"You think I only kissed you to help me with the case?" The genius phrased it like a question but John knew it was a statement. Of course that's what he thought.

"You're wrong"

"What?" The doctor felt the world spin on its axis.

"I mean, technically you're right. I kissed you in that specific moment because of the case."

John felt his heart sink again.

"But." Sherlock continued. "I realise now I have wanted to kiss you for exactly five years, eight months and twenty six days, I just didn't know it because I'm an idiot and I was scared. I've never felt _this_ about anyone before and I didn't know what to do; then today presented me with an opportunity and I took it. But John, you have to understand the case was merely a prompt for something that I was already desperate for."

The doctor stared at him, stunned.

"Sherlock, you have to tell me exactly, _exactly_ , what you want from me because otherwise I am likely to get the wrong idea about something."

"I love you." Said the detective simply, turning John's world upside down with three words.

The blond couldn't breathe, his friends words seemed to echo in the air as John struggled to make sense of what he'd just heard.

"You. Love. Me?"

"Yes, do keep up... I- I understand if you don't feel the same way, although the evidence suggests otherwise." The detective shot him a soft, vulnerable smile.

"Sherlock.. Sherlock I am completely in love with you, you big berk. _All these years_ I've desperately tried to hold back my feelings for you, and you've felt the same bloody way the whole time?"

"I thought you would become uncomfortable if I told you, you have been very insistent about not being gay."

John sighed, already regretting how much he'd tried to hide his feelings. "That's because I'm not, I'm bi. I should've told you the truth but I thought that if you knew it would only be a matter of time before you deduced how I felt about you."

"A valid point." The detective admitted. "However something I have deduced is that we are doing far too much talking and not enough kissing."

John felt a bright, shy smile stretch over his face as he realised the implications of Sherlock loving him. He could finally do things he'd been imagining for years, he could finally stop holding back his endless affection and desire for the detective. God, this was incredible.

And so, the doctor leaned forwards and passionately kissed the detective until they were both clinging to each other, breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo! Finally they figured it out :)


	4. Stop the world I wanna get off with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade’s perspective, plus some fluff!

The DI scratched his head, looking down at the body of Daniel Trent with pity tinted puzzlement. There was no way his team would be able to get anywhere near solving this; it was too _biazzare_ , too barbaric. There was only one person who'd be able to find this killer.

Sally Donovan, seeing him reach for his phone, groaned heavily.

"Not the freak!"

"We don't have any other choice."

Twenty minutes later Sherlock Holmes arrived with John by his side, gripping his hand steadily. The detective inspector allowed himself a small smile at how subtly happy and.. _together_ the pair looked.

When they had first announced their relationship two months ago he'd nearly spat out his coffee, shooting John a _what the hell_ look. He'd always secretly thought they were more than friends but to actually see it, to see _Sherlock_ in love, it was odd.

However once he'd gotten over his shock he realised how well the pair worked together. Before two months ago whenever Lestrade turned up at 221B after a hiatus of cases he would usually see Sherlock pacing, shooting the walls (he'd had to call a unit to restrain him once), almost going mad with boredom. Nowadays though, he would usually be engaging in soft, happy domesticity with John: bloody _cuddles_ on the sofa, chuckling over something like a pair of school boys, he'd even walked in on them snogging once. Now _that_ was something he'd unfortunately never unsee.

"This is Daniel Trent, found dead over an hour ago by some cyclists. Our team estimated he died around 36 hours ago."

Sherlock scoffed. "Forgive me if I don't trust your little _team_ , Lestrade. They haven't exactly proved accurate in the past."

"Whatever, just.. please, take a look. We're all baffled on this one."

"I don't doubt it."

Then came the weird bit. The bit the pair now did every time at crime scenes.

Sherlock stared at the body, crouching down and examining multiple angles like he was soaking in all the information the corpse had to offer. Then he abruptly stood up, reached out for John and the two of them walked off and disappeared behind a nearby storage bin. Lestrade had learnt from experience not to stop them or question it; they'd be back.

A minute later they emerged, Sherlocks hair mussed up and both of them panting slightly. He didn't want to know what had happened behind that bin, but whatever it was it seemed to help Sherlock solve the cases even faster. As long as it wasn't drugs (which Lestrade highly doubted with John there) he wasn't going to stop him.

"I have narrowed down the killer to approximately three people, and if you give me half an hour I'll have one of them in handcuffs."

"Sherlock, for the last time you can't handcuff anyone- you're not _actually_ police." Lestrade sighed, trying to hide how pleased he was. His superiors wanted a quick solve on this one before it hit the press and it seemed he would get it.

Thank god for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it folks. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I had fun writing it! Please drop a kudos if so :)


End file.
